Sherlock: A Study of the Imaginary
by Stella Limegood
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is not parental material, nor even a boyfriend, but things are changing fast. With John Watson married the city of London finds itself facing a series of murders that make the Baskerville case look simple if not sweet! All just as two runaway youths should arrive? "Beware O human for once more doth we the darkness come..crawling our way back into mighty dawn.."


"Do you hear it?"

"The sound? Thousands upon thousands of footsteps stomping around the city, all of them in such a silly rush, like a never-ending pulse. All of them in such a frantic hurry, running to catch the next taxi, or to meet family, they go to their jobs or grab a bite to eat at the local pub before they meet with others. Some of them go out for pleasure. Some of them go out for pain. Some to please and some to become angry, while others simply try each day to escape their own world weary melancholy. Ha. Many of them don't even know what it is they are doing or where it is they even wish to run too. What they don't realize…is what they already have. Life. Yes all of them are alive, busy living, day in and day out, unaware of the countless breaths they take or the echoing sound of their footsteps ricocheting into the ground beneath their feet. I often wonder how any of them could ever feel alone? When there are so many of them? Enough to fill the deepest of seas and even rival the droplets of the tides. How I hear them. Their thoughts like clearest glass and their minds like the old dance of a chaotic order the world has all but forgotten. Every individual heartbeat every pulsing rhythm.. I hear…every single accursed one..…and sometimes I have to remind myself that they are more then the pounding thuds of their footsteps or the blood flowing in their chests.

For I find after so long…sometimes they sound to me like nothing more then a stampede of rats. Loud and noisy rats scrambling like mad for food that they already possess? It bothers me sometimes how they don't see. How they don't know their own luck. And I grow weary of those more like myself having to hide or stay pushed to the corners and edges of a world we once mastered. That we once ruled. That we once belonged too as naturally as any other being does. I grow sick of hiding. I grow angry at them. One part of me has even grown to hate them.

Yet, was I too not once a rat?

So long ago those memories of mine are, now they drift in my mind all but distorted, but I do remember. I remember many things. I once told Oskar this…but he didn't quite understand what I was trying to explain. He tried though. Bless him for trying. My dear companion rat.

My human heart.

One thing that strikes me now as I carve my territory in our new home, is the clock. Oskar my heart wanted to see it, so see it I decided we would. What my beloved doesn't know is that I already have seen ' _Big Ben'_ , I was there when it was made and I was here thrice before even that. After all, this city is old and there are many _kinds_ who are attracted to it. I myself included, despite the endless thrum of noise."

Part 1: "I came to see the clock"

Francis Baker was not a wealthy man, nor a very nice man, he was if anything a bit of a grouch and all around not the type of man you would expect to want to help a stray little street urchin but dash it all if he wasn't going too.

Earlier in the evening he had gotten off at Liverpool Station from a recent business trip and after having a quick bite to eat had decided to make his way down to where _St. Stephen Wallbrook_ lay. Where he would then have grabbed a ride on a Nightbus that would have easily taken him home into Newington, but just as he had been about to reach the pickup for the bus, something on the edge of an alley had caught his eye?

Not one to usually be interrupted, he was a little surprised that he couldn't ignore the flurry of movement that had entered his peripheral vision but ignore it, he couldn't.

Instead whatever it was had caused Francis Baker to take a detour from his customary route home.

As he approached the small thing lying amongst the trash heap in the alley he reflected on his life, and the contrast that it held compared to this sorry sod lying before him? Compared to the mess under his gaze he could consider himself as lucky as a king. Even with his host of problems starting with his second wife trying to sue him in court for a ludicrous sum and finishing with his estranged sons. Whom both in each of their own sick ways were plotting out his destruction alongside his first wife. How she wished to just bury him and be done with him once and for all. The bitch.

Not too mention his younger sister who blamed him for a hand in their fathers fall from financial glory. Oh yes Francis Baker had no doubts about his upcoming inevitable demise by the hands of at least one of his relatives, but now wasn't the time to ruminate over the problems of his own life.

No such things could wait.

" _He..lp…me…Help…me,"_ whispered the dirty fragile looking child. It's voice sounded unbelievably soft with the queerest of accents, that Francis Baker had ever heard and that included all of his worldly travels, but it was the shakiness in it that made him pay attention.

"Bloody hell there, luv. You seem to be in quite a state?" said Francis.

He or she, Francis couldn't quite tell had dark black hair that grew to their shoulders. Their face was blocked as it seemed to be clinging to the brick wall in a desperate need for support and the child's skin was so pale that as he got closer, Francis could make out the dark veins pulsing under the pallid color. The poor pathetic thing looked like death warmed over?

Francis shivered, 'strange I never get goose bumps?' he thought as he tightened his arms around his navy blue suit, his eyes briefly looking at the darkening clouds covering the moonlit sky. Really? It was far too late for any child to be out in such a place. Frowning he began approaching the thing and tried to keep his inner vexation out of his voice, 'Why am I even doing this?' he briefly pondered as he slowly approached.

"Hey there? Can you here me luv? What's happened? Can you get up? What's wrong?" asked Francis as he placed his traveling case down, so that his arms were free to aide the child.

"… _..He..e..l..p…..meee. Please.s.s….,"_ the tiny huddled figure whispered again, it's oddly harmonic voice sounding decidedly female to Francis, albeit a bit low? If the voice wasn't so hoarse he'd swear that there was almost a _growl_ to it?

Also there was a strange odor in the air? It was _metallic_ like, sharp, or something and yet it reminded him of a few places he had been too? Oddly enough a memory of an Egyptian tomb he had visited came to mind, slowly followed by the odd scent of old earth? The kind one can finds under enormous **Ankerwycke yew** trees, again Francis felt goose bumps prickling his neck and suddenly he felt his hands shaking? 'It must be the alley and the long day catching up to me,' he thought as he ignored his body's subconscious warnings.

"There. There. Luv. Will get ya someplace safe yes?" said Francis as he stood only about 2ft from the little girl that was hunched in on herself, she couldn't have been much more then eleven or twelve?

Upon closer inspection the sight he beheld truly began to rattle him, and that strange smell heightened in intensity making him blink. She was so thin he could count the bones of her spine in the exposed back of what couldn't have been more then a blasted pillowcase on her! The poor child's legs, arms and feet were thin and bare, and 'covered' seemed just too polite a word to describe the dirty smothered state they were in!

As his horrified eyes took in the whole sight of the child's legs a foreign sense of righteous indignation sped through Francis Baker. No child should be left in such a state, homeless or not! He was about to let loose a real tirade over the situation when his brain registered that he wasn't just seeing dirt on the girl but dark ugly bruises, and…"Dear Lord," whispered Francis as his body began to shiver tenfold…. _blood._

Her toes and her small little hands were crusted over with _blood._

 _Something about the blood made Francis Baker forget all about his feelings of moral consciousness. Something about the blood made his stomach plummet. Something about the blood made Francis Baker pause and gulp. There was a creeping…. in the back of his mind, like an old gramophone's distorted echo? He felt something from his school boy days, a primal wisdom that his mere youth had possessed cry out in fright. It was trying desperately to communicate with his grown up brain now. A vital message in his mind from when he was young, screaming outwards to his adult brain, but whatever knowledge his childhood self had once possessed it had long since been forgotten by adult skepticism and realism._

Despite these misgivings, and the strange nagging that spun in his soul, Francis Baker mustered the courage to move forward, after all Francis Baker was not a nice man, but he wasn't completely heartless. Thus he went to the little child with arms open wide, for she was a child, a suffering freezing child and with the intent of saving her he allowed himself to bend down.

He gently brought the feather light girl into his arms, cradling her as if she had been one of his sons, when his eyes met hers, and Francis Baker froze.

 _Two dark inhuman black pools of antiquity carved into his very soul. The darkest eyes that any of man has ever been privileged to survive and see glided into him, and they undid him. Unnerved he wanted to toss this.. this thing away from him!? As fast as the thought came, it moved! The strength in the creature equaled an anaconda or more and Francis let out a yelp as he felt the bones in his body break under it's tight hold! God NO! No!_

"NO! NO! NOOOO" he tried to scream as those black orbs turned the barest hint of ' _regrettable ruby_ _red'._

 _Pain!_

PAIN!

PAIN! PAIN!

It plunged into him without hesitance or mercy! So fast! He hadn't had a chance!

"PLEASE…please.." this time he was begging, "ahh!"

Such sharpness assaulted him! He felt his whole body quake and burn as if it was on fire! He could hear his own heart beat pounding in his skull like a battering ram. He tried to move! His ears filled with the sound of a terrible growling and _gulping_ , as one last time he tried to push it off of him but it was too strong. Worse everything was starting to grow fuzzy and unsteady. Only the feeling of freezing clawed limbs in and upon his flesh is what he knew as another deeper bout of pain was forced into him! It was EATING HIM! LORD! IT WAS EATING HIM!

In seconds he felt his life abandoning him as the thing _drained him, pulling his very life from him, the sound of its satisfied growls and slurps_ echoing in his brain ashe felt tears sting his eyes.

So apparently he had been wrong? He felt like laughing almost in his fading state, none of those buffoons of his so-called family were going to get to finish him off after all? Well, it served them right, the rotten pricks. He tried to be brave but he felt fear consume him, ' _I'm dying'_ he realized sadly, 'This is it.'

Then _those eyes_ were searing into him once more, and as his body began breaking down he found the thing holding his gaze. It had such _frightful eyes._ Yet in this his final moments, Francis Baker for the very first time found that for once, thanks to this encounter _,_ he felt he fully now understood his own humanity?

Francis decided not to look away from his killer but met _those now eerily enchanting_ _dark eyes and to his eternal surprise he watched_ them turn _immeasurably_ guilty. Fixed and hanging above him, he felt a sensation push into him. Filling him with a sense of _ageless tragedy and at the same time an odd eternal perpetual innocence, that showed nothing except for loneliness and an incalculable measure of understanding of the world in one far beyond what man dreamed possible, in those old sorrowful child shaped black orbs he saw terrible unspeakable, unquenchable anguish and cold silent calculation._

They stared at each other. Then he felt a small _clawed_ hand with an _inhuman grace_ cradle his head ever so _gently_ , just as he had _hers_ mere seconds ago and Francis Baker surprised himself, for one last time.

It was strange. It didn't make sense at all but he? He?

He suddenly found in this his final moments, that he _pitied his killer_?! He pitied _her! This queer alien child looking thing, and.. he couldn't believe it…but he still wanted to help her? Even though she had murdered him, butchered him like a tiger in the zoo, and yet as twisted as it was he felt..lucky?_

 _Lucky and sad to know he had finally seen…someone …something.. in his insignificant miserable life_ so _unbelievably amazing_ while also… _at the same time so insidiously horrifying…. Something that could really change the world forever, and …._ and he would never get to share it with anyone.

Not a soul.

No one would ever know and he himself wouldn't be able to confirm what he knew to be true.

They would presume so many things…

This _…the truth…belonged only to fantasy._

'Figures,' he thought glumly as his existence began shifting planes, but not before he heard that strange _unearthly_ voice whisper candidly,

"Thank you for _helping_ me," then he was gone.

…Case 1…

Lestrade had seen some weird things. Working with Sherlock Holmes and in London for the _New Scotland Yard_ , it was inevitable but this? This took the ruddy cake! The body of the victim a.e..a Francis Baker was found easily enough, early this morning by a young chef who had been right in the middle of taking the trash out at approximately 6:30am in a relatively unused alleyway, but what the first witness had failed to mention along with the initial response team agents report was the important and rather disturbing fact that Francis Baker's body was everywhere.

Really it was everywhere! Limbs were thrown all over the place! Chunks of meat were scattered about like sprinkles! They'd had to close down the entire alley and part of both streets at either end just to get to it all and that wasn't even the worse of it. Oh no. Not by a long shot.

The victim's head had been found carefully mounted on a pipe a few feet off the ground! While pound officials had to chase after a stray dog that had made off with one of Francis' hands and Lestrade didn't even want to mention the cats. The situation with the cats was revolting!

Either somebody had a really sick sense of humor or there was another natural animal rights activist nut gone mad in the city again. 'Lord please don't let it be that,' he found himself continually praying the more on the scene he got, 'One case with an escaped Orangutan is quite enough, thank you, Lord. Please don't let it be another animal rights nut. Oh please. Oh please oh please not again,' Became his internal mantra for the entire morning.

To cut it short today's case was gross and that was an easy understatement.

Truthfully Lestrade had felt the urge to vomit more then once, but here was the real kicker: there wasn't any blood.

Brain bits, muscle bits, other bits, sure.

No blood though!

Yup.

No blood! Funny that?

None! Not anywhere! Nothing. 'Nada or Zip!' as the Americans say.

Not a drop?!

There wasn't any blood, and for a second the entire police force, let alone the forensic team could only just look around in a horrified stupor? It was something to see, skin bits all over the place, in the gutter and yet no red anywhere, and the skin, oh the skin itself was dry, shredded and husk like? Lestrade didn't know the scientific terms per say but that alone was making the forensic team gawk in perturbed alarm, its unnaturalness obvious even to an outside eye like his.

Where was the blood?!

Now everyone had seen bodies torn apart before in this field, that wasn't so much the issue, but this was a whole new level of insanity? 'Really,' thought Lestrade, 'With a body torn all over and scattered about the place like the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz there bloody well should be bloody.. _blood_!? But there isn't any? What in blazes am I looking at?!' He all but finished thinking in a moan of frustration, there wasn't a pinprick of the stuff! It was downright strange and all the dry flesh?! Hell the rest of Baker's body was so mangled and shredded that it was all but unrecognizable save for the larger chunks.

"So are ya gonna call him?" queried the voice of one, Sally Donovan from his left, waking him from his inner query. Normally the younger police sergeant wouldn't have even had to ask such a question but the truth was lately Lestrade had been growing frustrated with his own and the team's forces dependency upon one _Sherlock Holmes_.

"I will if I have too Donovan but how about we give our boys a chance first yeah," he answered.

"Not to be rude or anything Sir, but are you serious?"

"Yes. Sally as a matter of fact I am. Look I know this is crazy and an utterly perplexing case we've been landed here but we can't just rely on Sherlock all the time to solve everything for us. Besides I'm curious to know what if anything our forensic team has managed to cobble together after their examination," Lestrade stated as his eyes landed on yet another bit of torn skin.

"Its headquarters again isn't it boss?" pressed Sally.

Lestrade took a deep sigh, truthfully he wasn't sure he felt like sharing this information just yet, but well, today was looking to be one of those days, "Yes and No."

Donovan was quiet as she waited for him to continue, her dark frizzy hair responding poorly to the day's increasing humidity and heat. As she waited Lestrade couldn't help but notice how her eyes kept flickering over his shoulder to the thin lanky man behind him working over with the other forensic specialists.

Philip Anderson had only just recently been re-hired to work for the Yard again but ever since the "supposed' death of Sherlock Holmes and his return" the man had changed. Lestrade personally saw much improvement himself in the other mans character but unfortunately for Sally Donovan with Anderson's maturity had come a 'metaphorical nail' in the coffin that was now labeled, 'The Love Affair between Sally and Philip.'

At least until Anderson's divorce papers had been finalized, he suspected.

Time would tell he guessed? Sally from what Lestrade couldn't help noticing based on those sneaking glances she kept throwing Phillips way seemed to still be carrying a torch there? Not having the best luck in romantic relationships himself, he was under the firm opinion that even if they did work with him, it was none of his business what antics his co-workers got up too on their time off.

Still Lestrade was actually rather thankful for this 'separation' development himself between the two, because it had allowed both his co-workers more focus and application towards their duties for the force. Although he would never get over the fact that between the two, Sally had turned out to be the more infatuated of the pair.

"The commander wasn't exactly as pleased as I had hoped with the latest reports I gave him. Actually to be frank he took the reports out of my hands and the pompous arse threw them into his waste basket as he said and I quote, 'Why should I bother with reading your reports when John Watson has already kept me well-enough informed via his blog.' Then he went on to say how he was seriously considering firing the lot of us and just hiring Sherlock to do all the work," said Lestrade bitterly as he watched Anderson turn to face them.

"So just another typical meeting then," replied Donovan with a touch of sass while Lestrade let out an aggravated sigh thinking, 'why was today so muggy.'

"Look Boss, I above all people understand not wanting to rely on the Frea..I mean…Holmes, ahem, but I think that maybe this isn't the case to start dismissing him on, I mean the man is a complete nut job but after everything…." Donovan paused.

"Yeah?" prompted Lestrade eyes widening in surprise as he thought, ' Well now, this is history in the making! Is she really going to admit how valuable Sherlock is to the force? To humanity? To _us_?'

Donovan opened and closed her mouth like a fish a bit before she swallowed in irritation and in a huff let out the words, "Look boss a man's been blown to bits! And there's not an ounce of blood, I may not be a specialist on that front but you can't tell me this is your average murder! So. So, just call him already."

If her words hadn't of struck a chord in his own unsettled stomach over the apprehensive situation he would have gloated and teased her over that declaration for weeks to come, but as it was, he was a professional and there was something in the air making him feel edgy. In truth he wanted to call Sherlock as well, which vexed him all the more.

They had to start solving cases on their own! What would happen if they ever truly did lose Holmes? The idea had been causing him to lose months of sleep.

"Really Donovan, I can see that, chances are though the bloody bastard will be here any second, and it's high time we start learning to stand on our own two feet more!" voiced Lestrade heavily as Donovan crossed her arms. Lestrade felt like groaning, worse he was beginning to feel a headache coming on, perhaps his friend Margery was right, he needed a vacation.

"Anderson! Tell me what you got so far?" he demanded.

Philip Anderson was examining the ground, looking for anything at this point to explain how the man could possibly have been shredded so? But there wasn't anything? Nothing. Not a single thing to go on. There were no signs of bullets, oil residue, gunfire, or anything to show the signs of any man-made tool having been used?

The rest of the forensic team was scouting for signs of more animal activity but, outside of the local alley cats and stray dogs, there were only signs of squirrels or bird droppings?

'… _Something….feels…..off…'_ thought Anderson fretfully as his eye subconsciously began twitching from what exactly he couldn't say, ' _What is this?'_ his mind kept repeating as he frantically tried to configure something in his head to explain what he was seeing?

"Well Anderson? What have we got so far?" asked Lestrade a bit more pointedly.

"I…." Anderson tried.

' _I don't know,' whispered a soft hissing voice in Anderson's head._

"Oh come on man!? You must have something?" Lestrade pushed desperately as he placed a steady hand on the other man's shoulder giving it just a subtle shake, "Blimey Phil, at this point I'll take the count of his teeth! Tell me what we've got here?"

' _Oh God, I don't know, I really don't' know!,' thought Anderson fearfully._

"Um..yes..um…so, we have his name sir, due to his wallet being found over by the bin, and the head to confirm his photo I.D., but…um..," said Anderson as he struggled to find his next words, his fingers trembling, involuntary.

"Go on," encouraged Lestrade noticing the action, as another officer reported that the media had finally arrived making its usual grand debut. 'Wonderful,' thought Lestrade sarcastically, 'All London needs is those bloody gossip hounds making another _Jack the Ripper_ scenario in the papers. First _Moriarty, then Magnussen_ and now this. Bugger it all tonight Margery and I are going out to the pubs even if I have to drag myself out the door!'

"Anderson," barked Lestrade annoyed.

"Look I'm sorry sir! It just doesn't add up! I mean this man's skin, muscles and bones have clearly been shredded to pieces over the entire alley save his head! But with what exactly is at this moment impossible to say without some results from the lab back at headquarters!? I mean it would take just off the top of my head at minimum a chain saw or a heavy cleaver to do this amount of cutting!? Maybe a car? Or a bloody bomb! There's no oil though? No shrapnel! No...no. sign of any sort of machine? We can use his skin for DNA tests, however in case you haven't noticed sir, THERE ISN'T ANY BLOOD! NOT A DROP! IT'S QUITE FRANKLY WRONG! ENTIRELY WRONG! THIS WHOLE ALLEY SHOULD BE BATHED IN RED! AND WERE NOT FINDING A DROP! NONE! AND HIS SKIN SIR! HIS SKIN IS DRY! LIKE…LIKE?!" replied Anderson in a trembling voice exasperated, his eyes blown wide.

A few grunts of agreement echoed him from the rest of the forensic team. That had slowly made their way towards the two forming a tight ring of anxiety and alarm around the pair. Underneath their Tyvek body suits Lestrade could finally see a few were shivering with ill concealed dread. He looked at one dark skinned man named Sam Turner who had been with Scotland Yard just about as long as Anderson.

Sam unlike Anderson had always been a very quiet and well-spoken individual his level-headedness had helped solved and clean quite a few of the worst crime scenes Lestrade had ever witnessed. One of which had involved a family rape ending in murder that had been so bad, Lestrade hadn't even been able to walk into the house. Sam however had gone in and done his job. Cleaned the whole place, and helped identify the culprit. Professionalism at its finest.

This same man was currently staring at him with a look of just barely managed absolute _fright_.

In fact the more Lestrade looked around him, the more shell-shocked the whole team appeared.

Damn.

Lestrade wanted to go dunk his head in an icebox. That would be the only thing that could possibly cool his temper down now at this point. He did and did not want to call Sherlock Holmes. He really truly did not, yet he also really truly did.

'Shit,' he thought in consternation.

"Boss," came Donovan's voice from somewhere on his left, "we've got to do it."

'Why couldn't he ever get a really simple robbery or maybe a simple case of larceny? Whatever happened to good old fashion pick pocketing?' thought Lestrade dejectedly as his hand went to his smart phone.

"Sir the reporters are getting antsy," came a voice from one of his men, approaching him from the other side of the alley. Sally latched onto the incoming man's arm, twisted said fellow around and started leading the chap back the way he'd come, her dark curly hair swirling around as she shouted back at Lestrade over her shoulder, "I got the press Boss, you just get that Fr… ahem..I mean Holmes here!"

Lestrade watched her go forlornly, before he pulled his phone out and found the number, he paused. This was going all wrong. They were suppose to be thinking for themselves. They needed to start solving crimes without Holmes….

A hand fell on his shoulder, he looked up to see a concerned Sam Turner, "I know you don't want us to rely on him, but sir there is something off about this," started Turner his smooth voice lowering to a tight whisper, " _It's unnatural Greg! It's all wrong,"_ Sam stressed.

"Headquarters is going to fire us, " Lestrade moaned as he hit the number for Sherlock.

"Yes, well, Holmes can't be everywhere and we _need_ him!" retorted Anderson surprisingly sharp while Sam gave the other forensic specialist a look that said, 'Loud exclamations aren't helping,' which was met with an equally charming look in reply of, 'so what?' from Anderson.

'Perhaps I should just write up a resignation letter for us?' thought Lestrade to himself when his phone began to ring. Yet, it said something that everyone particularly including Anderson and Donovan, despite their history we're pushing him hard to contact Sherlock.

Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at a spot on the ground where a part of the victims arm was lying on the ground. Shriveled, dry, torn and scratched up by Lord only knows? With nothing but the dirty alley underneath. _There should have been blood, at least in the limb?!_ For a second Lestrade felt a sense of something _ominous_ pass over him.

Right.

He shook his shoulders, time to get back to business.

While he waited for Sherlock to answer, he noticed his team was still standing around glumly in a unified stupor, "Well don't just dawdle and twiddle your thumbs! GET TO WORK YOU LOT! I WANT AS MUCH INFO AS WE CAN GET BEFORE HE ARRIVES! NOW MOVE! "

Like a slinky everyone sprang back into action.

….221 B. BAKER ST.

It was a beautiful day! The sun was shining! The birds were singing! The marmalade on his toast had been tasty! Mary was absolutely lovely and soon he would be a Daddy! His best friend had been pardoned once the truth of Magnussens' evil corruption had been exposed and yup! Life couldn't get much better! Everything was coming up roses for one Dr. John Watson!

" _Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long, and wouldn't it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong, know it's gonna make it that much better,"_ sang the _Beach Boys_ on his iPod as he made his way down the street to go visit Sherlock. As he walked along he couldn't help but notice how perfect everything seemed today. There was miss Amanda walking her dog Shadow, and there was a nice couple walking arm and arm to the small coffee shop on the corner! Then there was Mr. Louie who owned the Speedy's Café outside sweeping the front of the store. For a moment John wondered how he and Mrs. Hudson's dates were going? He made sure to wave to everyone, and then he saw a young man named Charlie who lived in the building across the flat getting ready to go for a ride on his bike, boy did that look like fun!

He aught to get a bike for himself, come to think of it, he should save up! Yeah what a fantastic idea! He'd have to get a small one with training wheels once his son or daughter were born then he would have to teach them how to ride. And one for Mary too! Oh that would be perfect! They could go riding together! Just the three of them right through Kensington Gardens. He could just picture it! And when they were tired, they would have a picnic.

" _What happy times together we'd be spending! I wish that every kiss was never ending!"_ went the iPod. It was decided, he would have enough money saved up for those bikes come the end of this week so help him God. Oh! He couldn't wait to tell Mary! Or maybe he should surprise her?

It was so hard to get one by her, what with her history, but at the same time it was silly stuff and small stuff like this, that he knew she would appreciate the most! Yes. Gods this was a brilliant idea!

" _Wouldn't it be nice!"_ went the last lyric of the song.

Brilliant!

John Watson put his iPod in his pocket and skipped up the stairs and knocked on 221B with a cheery grin, only to be greeted by a … green faced mutant!

"JOHN! YOU'RE HERE THANK HEAVEN!" shouted the _She-Hulk_ that was Mrs. Hudson in disguise.

"Mrs. Hudson?!" cried John back in alarm as green hands took his shoulders steering him indoors, "What? How..?" he started only to be cut off.

"Don't stand there on the porch! Get in here," she ordered as she pulled him into the building shutting the door behind them and yanked him right up the stairs to Sherlock and his old flat, "It can't go on like this John dear! It simply can't! He's been tampering with my facial creams again and look! JUST LOOK! I'M GREEN! GREEN! I CAN'T EVEN GO OUT TO THE CONVIENANT STORE LIKE THIS! LORD ABOVE ONLY KNOWS WHAT'S BEEN DONE TO THE SHAMPOO!"

" I see," started John slowly, in times like this it was best to just nod ones head and play sympathetic catch up, as quickly as possible. Mrs. Hudson seemed to be on the verge of a nuclear explosion, and he definitely didn't want to be around when she starting firing. 'In her defense', he reflected she had been, 'turned green', that was a situation liable to make any woman save the _Wicked Witch of the West_ pissed off.

"AND HE'S BEEN DOING SOMETHING WITH THE PLUMMING! AND THE PLANTS DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE PLANTS! IF HE BRINGS ONE MORE VENUS FLY TRAP INTO THIS HOUSE! I SWEAR..JOHN DEARIE…I'L..oh my. I'm rather blustering about aren't I? Why I haven't even offered you a cuppa? How rude of me. I do apologize dear!" said hurricane Hudson.

"It's alright Mrs. Hudson. Don't worry I understand perfectly remember the shoe print experiment?" replied John.

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Hudson with a smile as she seemed to deflate a bit after her small outburst back into the calm she more often radiated.

"Couldn't get the ink he used out of them for at least two weeks, I had to search all of London for a specific brand of shoe cleaner and believe me I don't think I'll ever joke about cobbling again," chuckled John as he finished.

"How right you are! Truly it's great to see you, how is Mary and the little one? I suspect it will be any day now yes?" inquired Mrs. Hudson as they finished coming up the stairs.

"Quite well, actually!" replied John, "In fact during the last sonogram the doctor said that Mary is looking healthier then ever and with luck everything should be fine come delivery!"

Mrs. Hudson clapped her green hands in joy, "How marvelous! Oh I do hope you'll bring the little one around, I've re-taken up my knitting and…"

Whatever Mrs. Hudson was about to say next was cut off by a loud resounding bang!

BANG!

"Oh no," groaned John as he charged forward, with Mrs. Hudson right on his heels behind him shouting, "NOT THE WALLPAPER AGAIN! THAT'S THE FOURTH TIME I'VE HAD TO REPLACE IT THIS MONTH!"

"I thought you threw his revolver out?!" John asked in exasperation.

"I did!" huffed Mrs. Hudson.

BANG!

"Right," said John and with that he stormed into the room.

A jungle greeted him. No wonder Mrs. Hudson was complaining about plants? The place had been turned into a blooming greenhouse meets laboratory since his last visit. His eyes took in the vast array of foliage, all of which was labeled to name a few there was the strange: _Chinese Hibiscus,_ the _Begonias,_ _Hoya, Belladonna, Aloeaceae_ and those were only just in the doorway by his foot. As John led his way to the kitchen area he counted at least ten, yes, ten venus fly traps and stubbed his toe on a bag of soil that had been left lying open. The kitchen table had so much tubing and petri dishes on it with what appeared to be insect experiments, that he didn't notice right away the human hand or human fingers stuck in one fly trap or the other that had been dissected from the palm.

'Delightful' thought John in disgust, as the smell of it all hit him. To think he'd forgotten why he had never eaten breakfast on that table?

What a wonderful reminder.

"Sherlock?" called John as he made his way into the semi- orderly portion of the flat where his old chair remained as it had always been. Oddly enough untouched by the surrounding safari?

He was thankful to see that the living room hadn't (underneath the plants) altered too much since his last visit, although the plants seemed just on the verge of consuming it? 'The kitchen will never recover after this,' he thought while noting a few more various animal skulls had been added to the walls and it seemed that as usual Sherlock's library could use a good dusting. If the cleaner had the heart of a lion, that is. They're were scattered papers lying about the place haphazardly and a couple of magazines, one he noticed featured the new upcoming hyper tube the Americans in California were trying to engineer.

"Hoo H…ooOh Sherlock! What a mess! Do you know how hard it is to get soil out of a carpet! Really young man! This is getting to be too much! TOO MUCH!" declared Mrs. Hudson in dismay as she eyeballed a few chemical tubes that had been left to simmer on the kitchen stove.

"Really Mrs. Hudson, I'm trying to uncover a drug bust with roots that stretch all the way to the criminal network at the center of the Amazon forest and your concern is the carpet?" drawled a low velvety voice.

Sherlock Holmes with his dark curly hair was lying on his sofa wearing his usual blue bathrobe and a pair of slacks looking for all the world like an utterly dejected ragdoll. A revolver that had just been fired was lying on the floor next to his hand smoking, and John could see that apparently his friend had already had a cigarette or two this morning.

"Well, it looks like I arrived just in time," muttered John, "So Sherlock tell us then how does firing a revolver at," here he glanced at his watch, " 9:00 in the morning help you with a case involving the Amazon?" he asked of his moody best friend.

"Hullo John, and to answer your inane question it doesn't. By the way did you know there are over 40,000 different plant species and approximately 2.5 million insect species in the Amazon; and that 90% of the ones used by local natives have yet to be studied with modern science? Fascinating really how much mystery still lies within our own planets vegetation," retorted Sherlock right back.

Ah. So, that's how Sherlock wanted to play it eh? John had gotten rather good at this game, Sherlock was trying to distract him with random facts to avoid a conversation that dealt with whatever the real problem was, that had him firing off bullets.

Hm.

"Huh? Well your recent interest in gardening aside, want to have a go at explaining to me why your shooting the place?" John asked back.

"It's simple," snapped Sherlock.

John kept his mouth closed and sure enough, Sherlock started talking, "It was the first case since the _Magnussen affair_ of some quality above a blasted seven and now just when things were at their pinnacle of optimum interest. I solved the blasted thing! I've even already texted Mycroft where he can find the drop off point. There's nothing now but once again the perpetual boredom I am so frequently tortured by. Even as I speak I can feel my mind deteriorating."

"Of course, how obvious," said John with just a touch of sarcasm as he walked over to his favorite sitting chair, so the boredom explained a portion of the problem. John wondered though if there wasn't something deeper, he and Mary had noticed Sherlock acting troubled occasionally well Mary had noticed and pointed it out, since they'd come back to London after their third little honeymoon. Sherlock was so subtle it was easy to miss, if you weren't specifically looking, and John worried sometimes that if Mary hadn't of addressed it, if he wouldn't of noticed but just remained entirely oblivious to it? One more reason to add to the list of why John loved his wife so very much, she even looked after his friends. Well, Sherlock was now her friend too, actually between Mary and him, Sherlock had become a bit of a 'practice project' for parenthood, but that was to be just their little secret.

"I suppose I'll leave you two boys to it then, would either of you care for some tea? Although, why I offer you any Sherlock after your latest stunts is quite beyond me?" offered the still literally _green_ Mrs. Hudson with a flickering expression from irritation to fondness and irritation again.

Sherlock wisely kept his mouth shut, while John gave Mrs. Hudson a pleasant 'thank you' and 'yes please' that sent her on her way scurrying back down the stairs to her kitchen. When she was gone John turned to his friend with a critical eye. He would have to start out slow, when it came to emotional subjects getting Sherlock to talk about his feelings was like trying to perform a root canal on a crocodile. However, this was John's best friend for a reason and not to toot his own horn, but John Watson had become his own 'specialist' over the years as a sort of 'Sherlock Decoder Expert Extradonaire!'

Today Sherlock seemed especially defensive not to mention easily provoked, this would require a little …maneuvering?

"You know Sherlock I've always said you should..." began John.

"So. How is marital bliss going?" interrupted Sherlock abruptly as he sat up quickly fixing his hands into that classic pose of his where they interlocked and met before the front of his fine face as those infamous sharp eyes of his peered out from above them pinning John to the metaphorical wall.

Once upon a time those eyes fully set upon him would have had every nerve of John Watson's standing on end making him feel as if he were being dissected alive. Today not so much, yet Sherlock's eyes really were the detective's greatest weapons more so then even John suspected Sherlock knew. Definitely more subduing to a person than that annoying mouth of his that was certain. At one point John and pretty Molly from Bart's had shared a small private conversation about Sherlock's eyes. It was while Sherlock had been unconscious in the hospital asleep recovering; where Molly had shared the interesting fact that Sherlock's eyes consisted of a rare genetic trait called heterochromia iridum?

A fascinating subject or genetic trait with multiple causes and various results one of which being responsible for Sherlock's eyes having more then one color, but even this scientific fact didn't in John's humble opinion capture the dominating features that Sherlock's eyes encompassed in his friend as a whole.

'Or,' he thought, 'It didn't explain how entrancingly clairvoyant they seemed? Like he could just conjure anything out of anyone just by staring hard enough. It's a kind of magic really?' he paused in his thoughts here, as deeper ones came to mind, one thought surfacing quite suddenly, as the memory of that conversation with Molly played again in his head.

'Molly. That's right, I've been meaning to tell Sherlock..' he thought, momentarily forgetting his goal of getting his friend to open up, "Sherlock, I've.." he began only to be cut off.

"Ah. Yes. I can see from the slight stain there on your left sleeve, that Mary's had you practicing how to make formula for the baby, _Hipp Organic Brand_? Hm. Have either of you consider the benefits of Mary using her breast milk? It can boost an infants immune system into helping the child's body fight bacterial meningitis, ear infections, urinary tract infections and save you both at least $1,200 -$1,500 American dollars at least. You were also up at least half the night. Not surprising really she's due in just two more weeks if not earlier I estimate, impending parenthood can do that to a rem cycle, from what I've gathered. By the way how is that going? I would imagine your both feeling quite the pressure now with the day getting closer?" Sherlock asked his tall lithe form untangling itself from the sofa as he stood like a big giant cat as he then walked across the room to the small desk table where his laptop sat.

His dark curly hair swaying in time with his blue robe as he sat at the desk opened up the computer and in a flash those nimble violinist fingers were on the keys opening and closing windows, as Sherlock began searching for his next case.

"Wha? Oh! Well, yes in fact we had considered it," began John in reply before realizing he'd been sidetracked, but he forgave himself, because well it was Mary, and anytime Mary was the subject, John was understandably interested. A wife will do that to a husband. Heck any pretty girl could do that to a guy, particularly if he loved her, and was carrying his offspring. Still, the alarm ringing in his skull that indeed there was something 'off' about his friend had pretty much just been confirmed thanks to Sherlock's clever little trick, 'Curious,' thought John.

"Ugh. I tell you John what's the world coming too? I've already scrolled through over eleven forums, nine chat rooms and it's nothing but category three's or four's. Utterly dull.." moaned Sherlock as he leaned back into his chair dejected, hands still typing away at the keys.

Seeing an opening John dove right in, "Did you know that Molly has a birthday coming up?"

"What?" yelped Sherlock, literally yelped.

'Gotcha,' thought John smugly as he relished the feeling of catching the 'Oh so mighty Holmes' by surprise. Ah yes, he lived for these moments. Sherlock's entire body had frozen, fingers brought still, hovering over the keyboard, as he sat up ramrod straight before once again those two piercing blue/green orbs of his were facing John's face with something of a look between anxious and annoyed.

"This Friday actually, Mike is throwing a party for her at _The Paternoster_ , everyone will be there, including Mary & myself," said John as he watched his friend carefully while simultaneously grabbing the newspaper that lay on the little stand near his chair's left armrest. He'd already read half the articles this morning over breakfast back home but nothing quite worked so well as to disguise his own 'observing technique' or 'bemused observations' of his best friend then the newspaper. He would never understand how Sherlock could identify what shaving cream he used daily but miss the fact that he used the paper as a 'cover' for his blatant staring. ' _Always something'_ eh Sherlock? _,'_ thought John a little self-satisfied.

Speaking of Sherlock, the other man had switched from frozen robot to grumbling three year old. Bits and pieces of Sherlock's little mutterings such as, 'wasn't it last week' made it to John's ears but nothing completely intelligible, ' _Curiouser and curiouser,'_ he thought.

It was then that Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door frame and came back into the room carrying a little tray of tea & sugar cookies , "Hoo Hoo, well isn't this nice to see you boys chatting away. So any adventures for you two today?"

How she'd manage to avoid the plants and keep the tray balanced was a mystery John wouldn't of minded solving but he doubted it would be enough to grip Sherlock's interest, so instead he simply replied, "Ah yes, Thank you Mrs. Hudson and no afraid there's nothing on the agenda today however I was just reminding Sherlock.."

"John!" came a voice better left ignored for the moment.

"of Miss Molly's birthday this Friday. Will you be coming? Mike's been trying to get as many people to attend as he possibly can." John asked with polite interest, his eyes gleaming as he gave Mrs. Hudson a little wink, ignoring the irritated ambience coming from the other side of the room.

Strange seconds ago the room felt quite calm? Must be the weather.

"Why John! Of course I'll be there! I never miss a party luv, especially for such a dear friend like Molly. That girl has been a saint what with how she puts up with Sherlock,"

An indignant huff was made here but who knew where it was coming from? Had to be the weather.

"Helping the two of you with your cases all the time and Mary. Why now that I put my mind to it I wonder what I should get her? Oh I do love birthdays!" prattled Mrs. Hudson cheerfully as she gave John a little wink back before spinning on her heal to face Sherlock, _green_ face fully loaded by a cheshire smile as she ever so _'sweetly'_ said the words, "I do _so_ _hope_ Sherlock that you've gotten the girl something rather splendid this year. I mean you really ought to find her something special considering what a disaster that one Christmas party was not too mention all the human heads she's supplied you with –and don't think I hadn't noticed those fingers you tried to smuggle into my fridge downstairs young man when you ran out of room!"

"What?" proclaimed John startled.

"Ugh. I do apologize Mrs. Hudson but I couldn't possibly move the petri dishes with my most recent bacterial experiment in my own icebox when they are just now evolving into the final stages of .." began Sherlock with a sigh.

"You put fingers in Mrs. Hudson's fridge?" John interrupted, wondering why he was even surprised since Mrs. Hudson was also sporting a new ' _veggie colored_ ' complexion. Speaking of which, he aught to address that, shouldn't he?

"Yes John," answered Sherlock quickly before resuming his explanation for storing fingers in Mrs. Hudson's fridge. While Mrs. Hudson vigorously counter argued, the two of them going at it whole heartedly for a good fifteen minutes straight before the sudden sound of the theme song from the old 80's American T.V. cartoon show _Inspector Gadget_ rang through the air, to Mrs. Hudson's and John's bewilderment.

"Brilliant! Just in time!" shouted Sherlock as he ran across the room to his sofa, tossing a pillow aside, uncaring that it nearly knocked over some innocent _Begonias_ , to reveal his cell.

"Since when do you watch old American cartoons _? Why even?_ " began to ask John before Sherlock answered with the word, "Mary. Ah yes, Hullo Gavin! Tell me what delicious treat do you have for me this time? Of course I know your name's not Gavin. Don't be silly Lestrade."

Hum. That explained it. Lately, Mary had been trying to fill in Sherlock's 'pop-cultural' gaps from over the last twenty years ever since she found out about Sherlock's fascination with bad television and complete ignorance over certain subjects like the solar system and the existence of the singer _David Bowie._

Now that he thought on it, he remembered a conversation she had shared with him in bed the other night over Sherlock's reaction to her recommendation of a show called _Dungeons & Dragons_? Another American children 80's hit that apparently hadn't been all that well received by the detective because he claimed the subliminal messages were appalling and watching the episodes had been as bad as him having to see a bloody musical! Coming from Sherlock that was pretty telling. John chuckled to himself, it never failed to horrify his wife how much both Sherlock and his older brother Mycroft hated Broadway musicals? He himself quite enjoyed a show and couldn't really see what was so bad, even if they were according to Sherlock, 'nonsensical, frivolous, ridiculous, dull, useless wastes of time'.

Mary had been affronted by Sherlock's view on musicals and was determined to find one the detective liked if it was the last thing she did on this earth.

He, himself, felt that it was Sherlock's prerogative or choice on whether or not he liked musicals much less opera, but John had a secret theory that Sherlock's dislike had more to do with his friends suppressed emotions that the performances could probably trigger then anything else.

Sherlock's emotions like his social skills were still largely developing since John had met the man and it never failed to interest him in how powerful his friend's feelings could be while still so fragile?

Speaking of his friend, Sherlock's deep voice had taken on that excited edge that John always looked forward too, meaning that the case Greg had called them in for was going to be a doozy. 'Looks like plans change, what a great day,' thought John before he spoke, "Well, Mrs. Hudson it would appear judging by Sherlock's sudden rush to his bedroom that we may just have an adventure today after all!"

"Hee hee. Oh you two. Do be careful out there John, remember you've got a little one coming to worry about now, and make sure Sherlock doesn't do anything too crazy," said Mrs. Hudson with her matronly care as she picked a crumb off John's sweater as he stood up from his ready to go!

"Never you fear Mrs. Hudson will probably be back in time for lunch. All the same I can assure you will be careful," replied John as a loud excited exclamation and thud echoed from Sherlock's bedroom, "Well, as careful as it gets when it comes to tagging along with Sherlock on a case," added John as Mrs. Hudson shared an amused chuckle with him before the detective came out in all his glory, fully dressed, bell pulls swinging.

He even had put on the hat.

'Yup,' thought John definitely a good day!

"Murder John! An unsolved Murder in an alley off of _Threadneedle S_ close to _Wallbrook_! Apparently the body has been torn to shreds I'll need my magnifying glass! Is it not simply MARVELOUS!" exclaimed Sherlock as he grabbed a small case off his stand, wove his scarf around his neck and headed for the door, "COME JOHN THERE'S NO TIME TO WASTE! According to Lestrade animals have already been on the scene since 6:00 this morning! No telling what the state of the evidence will be in! HURRY!"

"Well, Mrs. Hudson," began John as he scuttled after Sherlock his face bright with joy, " _The Game is on!"_ she finished for him happily as she followed after the two men, waving goodbye and good luck to the two as they sped off towards their next adventure!

As they disappeared around a corner Mrs. Hudson gave a little sigh, her left hand came to rest on the door -frame, and for the fleetest of seconds she felt a slight _chill_ pinprick her fingers? She turned her head and there across the street she saw a pitch black _raven_ sitting on a window ledge staring at her, 'How unusual to see such a big bird so deep in the city?' she thought before a loud exclamation broke into the air.

"MARTHA WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!? YOUR BLOODY GREEN!?" shouted Louie!

"OH!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson in complete embarrassment! Before slamming the door in her boyfriends face, her back hitting the door, in the attempt to barricade it, as Louie began frantically knocking, "Martha! Martha?" he proclaimed.

….

.

.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES WHEN YOU GET BACK YOUNG MAN! YOUR GOING TO FIX THIS OR SO HELP ME I'LL, I'LL…I'LL CLEAN YOUR ENTIRE FLAT! RIGHT DOWN TO THE INSULATION LEVEL IN YOUR WALLS!" she hollered.

What a day.

…((Case 1. to be continued…))

Disclaimer:

So I don't own BBC's Sherlock in any way.

Nor do I own the original Norwegian (I believe) movie/novel/book franchise: Let the Right One In.

Or possibly the novel: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.

All three of those things belong to someone else or other persons who are far, far cleverer and talented individuals then I could ever hope to be.

I bow to their genius! And thank them for letting me borrow their worlds just to visit and play with as a fan and ONLY as a fan!

No profit whatsoever!

I'm a sad poor little sales associate/cashier.

Now honestly I've been really failing at keeping things updated and I will make no promises but today I ran into an old friend who said and I quote, "You haven't updated your stories in a long time?" And there are many reasons for that, the funny thing is: I'VE STILL BEEN WRITING. I just haven't been posting and it's because A. I'm so slow and B. Because I've started multiple ideas and well after hearing my friend I just decided what the heck! I'm just going to put up what I got!

As it stands I have the next update for my Merlin Fanfic just about ready, and I have my Durarara chapter nearing a good ½ way point.

Jokul Frosti and my Witch Woman Hobbit fanfics both require **re-reading,** and **note reviewing** but I finally came to an opinion on JF that was honestly giving me heavy writers block. So yay!

I've started two more new ideas I may or may not put up yet soon. I'm undecided. And finally My Dracula/Hobbit fanfic is also nearing a close update point similar to my Merlin Fanfic.

And my Batman fic, is also under re-reading and note taking but I have a direction for that one.

 **However Again I make no promises,** but at least now you all know what I've been up too and where I am on things. And by the way I am happy to say that **, I'M OKAY! I'M NOT DEAD!**

Life just keeps me busy outside , but I still write! And plan on continuing to write fanfics as long as I live, because it helps me cope with things and my inner demons if you will.

-Let me see what else? -Right so yeah, **not entirely sure** where this idea/ story crossover is going to go, so I won't give big interesting detail elements in this disclaimer like I am with other stories I've started, but well that's half the fun right?

Not always knowing?

I will say that I do plan on a gradual- eventual Molly X Sherlock couple pairing, but it will be a slow build and is not the …main focus or perhaps is only one of the main focuses I'm setting up for this crossover.

Also **I will not warn of character death's, assume no main character is safe! This applies to all my fanfics. Don't like please don't read.**

 **On the brighter side for those brave enough know this: I prefer happy endings.**

Well… that's all for now…so…

" _Let the games begin"- a quote from the movie_ _Dracula Untold_.


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